CCoca-Cola

I grew up in a small copper mining community, five miles from the nearest shops and without the aid of television. We did have an old valve radio though, one of those which emitted nothing but a hissing sound when we tried to listen to music or the news. The jingles, however, always came through loud and clear … and this is how I first learned of Coca-Cola.

I yearned for this drink with my whole heart; the advertisement held so much promise for a youngster brought up on homemade ginger beer and lemonade.

In those days, my father picked up the newspapers once a week, from a shop in a nearby town. I won’t ever forget the day when he brought home just one small bottle of Coca-Cola. Nothing in all my previous or future life experience could ever compare to the moment when I gently sucked up that first mouthful.

Nowadays I don’t touch the stuff – the taste of Coca-Cola from a can or a plastic bottle is just not the same. In my doddering old age, water straight from the tap is my preferred drink, but there are times when I still remember the sweet taste and the wonder of the bubbles on my tongue.

Dit laat my nou sommer dink aan my heel eerste roomyshorinkie wat my pa vir my gekoop het een warm somersdag. Ek was sowat agt jaar oud. My pa het met die kafee-eienaar gestaan en gesels terwyl my ma by die winkel langsaan besig was met inkopies. Skielik het hy ‘n tiekie tevoorskyn gebring en die ‘oom’ gevra om vir my ‘n roomys te gee.

Ek het goed geweet van roomys, maar die horinkie was vreemd en ek het nie juis geweet hoe om die kontrepsie te hanteer nie. Ek het dus die laaste roomys met my vinger uitgegrawe en die horinkie vir my pa terug gegee, met die gretige versoek dat die oom dit asseblief weer moet volmaak. Die twee mans het heerlik gelag en ek het nie nog roomys gekry nie (een tiekie was destyds baie geld) en ek moes maar tevrede wees daarmee om die droë horingkie te eet. Dit was ook maar genoeg vir my.

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